Meeting
by 9r7g5h
Summary: The first time they met, it was because of little Vanellope.


**AN:** I decided to spend the day going through my fanfic files and cleaning them out, since I have a lot of fics that I've already posted still in there. I came across this one, which was actually complete and I don't believe I've posted yet! If I have, please forgive me. But if not, I hope you guys enjoy this random little tidbit!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Wreck-It Ralph. Disney does.

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"Screw."

It only takes a moment for Vanellope's horribly suppressed giggles to reach him as she searches through his tool box, Felix's eyes rolling as he tries to hide his smile. Hanging as he was from the banister, one hand wrapped in half a dozen live wires that came from the chandelier and the other held out behind him for the things he needed, there was no time and this was not the place for playing around. It didn't help that his seat on the step ladder that hung mostly over thin air wasn't quite that comfortable.

"You said 'screw,'" Vanellope giggled as she dropped a few of the metal pieces he'd asked for into his outstretched palm, the screwdriver she knew he'd be asking for in a moment already in her pocket. "That's funny."

"And how would you know something like that, little miss," Felix playfully growled, his mock glare of disapproval hidden by his hat. Gesturing for the screwdriver, it was only a moment more before he set to work at returning the wires to their rightful places, carefully screwing in the new little brass and plastic sockets that were replacing the ones that had finally burned away.

"Come on, Felix; get with the program! Ralph's a construction worker. With the way he talks, even _I_ know what screwing around means." Her tone thoroughly exasperated, Vanellope almost missed Felix swallowing the last of his tools, the small metal bit getting caught in the back of his throat just in time to save him.

"O-oh, do you?" He sputtered, spitting the screw back into his palm and wiping it off before quickly putting it into its hole, suddenly eager to be done with this job. "W-what does it mean, then, sweetheart?" If she gave the answer he thought she was going to give, he was going to need to talk to Ralph about the language he used in front of his little sister, and soon. "Tell me."

"You know," she replied innocently, though her eyes held a mischievous twinkle. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, hammer time."

"Well, enlighten me, okay," he insisted, "and hand me some electrical tape while you're at it, please. I'm almost done here, and maybe once I am we can go down to the ice cream store for a well-earned treat. What do you say, Vanellope?"

"Ehh, ice cream's over rated," was her reply as she dug through his box, idly tossing some small knick knacks over her shoulder as she searched. "Now, make it the _candy shop_ , and we got a deal!" Smirking as she found the roll he desired, she shrugged as she handed it over, hands burying themselves in her hoodie once he'd taken it. "Might even explain to you over a jawbreaker what screwing around means…and how it's related to flubbering fudge-cicles."

"Vanellope," Felix gasped, tape sliding from between his fingers to fall six stories down, landing with a dull thud in their apartment building's entrance hall. They weren't true curse words, he knew-even Ralph wouldn't be irresponsible enough to curse in front of a child-but even hearing something that remotely _sounded_ like a curse had his heart racing. "That's no language for a young lady like yourself to use. Don't let me hear you doing it again."

"But-"

"No buts, Vanellope," Felix insisted. "You can swear all you want when you're my age, but not a moment before, you hear?" He couldn't tell if her unintelligible grumbles were confirmation or not, but he chose to take them, if just so he could get his job done that much quicker. "Thank you. Now, if you would, please hand me my hammer. I'm almost done; juts need to hit these few nails, and this should work."

Still grumbling quietly to herself, it didn't take but a second for Vanellope to locate his old, trusty hammer, the one his father's father had had specially made, and had passed on through the family for so many years. Nodding gratefully as she handed it over, Felix was just thinking they'd still make that candy run when little nine-year-old Vanellope spoke again.

"Shit."

It was all he could do to cling to the ladder as the sound of such profanity from such a young mouth shocked him, hammer sliding from his grip to fall next to the electrical tape six floors below. It was okay, though, he tried to convince his pounding heart. He had other hammers he could use, perfectly good modern hammers that would drive in these nails, and once he had finished his job he could run down, gather everything up, and usher his best friend's little sister home for a long, stern talking to. He'd fix this, he knew he could, he just had to remember that everything would be o-

"Look out," Vanellope called below, voice growing more and more frantic with each word she spoke, "look out, LOOK OUT, _LOOK OUT_!"

The thud of metal against skin was all he needed to stop his heart, and the curses-which would have made a sailor blush-that followed was what started him up again.

He couldn't say how he got off the ladder and down the six flights of stairs; Vanellope would later swear on the owner of the candy store that he'd literally just jumped six times and was there. But the how and when wasn't nearly as important as the who, the who who'd walked into the lobby at just the wrong time, who, by the time he did get there, was leaning heavily against the door, face pained as she rubbed her already bruising foot.

"Damn it, watch where you're putting those things," she snarled, eyes deadly as she glared, face mostly hidden by the hood she'd drawn up against the chill and the rain outside. "You almost killed me."

"I-I'm sorry, Ma'am," Felix stuttered in reply, face pale with guilt. Bending over to scoop up the tape and his hammer, it was all he could do to glance up at her apologetically, sorry that the first major injury he'd ever had on the job in all seven years had involved her.

He never got to ask her the many questions he'd been planning, such as if her foot was okay or if she needed him to do something. A single peek under the hoodie, and he was lost.

It wasn't until long after she'd finished yelling at him (something about how he was lucky she'd been wearing her steel toes boots, or he'd be in real trouble) and stomped away that he remembered how to speak, tongue finally regaining its abilities to utter one, single word that seemed to sum her up perfectly.

"Amazing."

On the stairs leading to the second floor, only just loud enough so she could hear herself, Vanellope stated that "someone's gonna find out what screwing around means _real_ soon."


End file.
